


Clinging to Time

by lady_wordsmith



Series: Steve's Diary Tetralogy [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Romance, Starts With a Death, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_wordsmith/pseuds/lady_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't a "throwing to the wolves," exactly; there were a million worse journalists they could have had assigned to the piece. But that's what it felt like. Steve was too unfamiliar with the modern world, and he knew it showed. He thought the journalist would tear him apart.</p><p>Despite that rough start, a rapport comes easy enough. It's strange, how easy it is to be friends with her.</p><p>*ON INDEFINITE HIATUS*</p><p>When he falls in love it all goes wrong. But not all at once, not at first. After all, it takes time to build a tragic love story.</p><p>(Prequel/Interquel to to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5802127">Steve's Diary</a>, and the first story, chronically speaking, of the tetralogy. The relationship from Steve's point-of-view, from its shaky beginnings to its tragic end. Mind the tags as they're added.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Beginning at the End

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs to anyone who wants them for this beginning. The next chapter is where the story officially begins, and is much more light-hearted in comparison.
> 
> The rest of this story will proceed from a third-person limited point of view from Steve, with the exception of certain chapters.

For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Everything is blank, white, and infinite. It’s not like the first time, in the plane, the way everything was dark and cold and it took hours. I wasn’t afraid then, even as it took forever to just die and in the end it didn’t take anyway.

It’s blank and white and it’s like it goes on forever, but then it gives way to fire and smoke all around me. My ears are ringing. The explosion comes back to me in an instant. So does the pain. My face… I can’t feel the right side of my face. It’s not tingling, numb, or painful. I just can’t feel it. I can’t even see out of that eye. It must be swollen shut.

But my legs… Oh God, my legs. My legs and my arms and my chest. It all hurts so much. My arms and legs feel heavy and leaden as I try to move. It’s all too heavy. Someone make it stop, makeit _stopmakeitstop **makeitstop**_!

 _Stop it, Rogers,_ I tell myself, trying to breathe and calm myself the way I had been taught. _You’re stronger than anything, stronger than the pain._

But it all feels so heavy. I’m amazed I can still stand, that the explosion didn’t knock me off my feet. But I feel so heavy and pain-ridden and _tired_. My legs collapse underneath me before I’m even aware of it. It’s okay, my body can rest, just a little, just like this…

Will someone find me? The last thing I heard over the comm link was one of them (Bucky? Sam? I don’t even remember now, it’s all getting blurred) telling me they had a fix on my general location and to just get as far away from the bomb as I could, but before I could even begin to run, the bomb had gone off. My fault. The leader always dives in, right? I didn’t know there was a bomb ready, didn’t know there was anything here. It was supposed to be abandoned, a simple in-and-out, check and see what HYDRA left behind.

Stupid. And now I was lying here, unable to pick myself up. Wondering why I can’t move my body. Wondering what’s wrong with my face. I try and lick my lips, but my mouth, something’s wrong and I can’t work my tongue and I just give up and stare at the fires building above me.

Will they find me before I go?

I wasn’t afraid of dying alone the first time. But this time, I… I don’t want to die alone. I don’t want to die _at all_. I can’t die yet, I still need to figure out what to do with the second chance I got off the ice, I still have so much to do and see…

I still… I still need to tell her…

I’m so tired. My eyes, what I can feel of them, they’re feeling heavy and leaden like the rest of me. Rest, sleep… But I can’t sleep. Sleeping here means dying, and they still haven’t found me and I’m still alone and I still haven’t told her. Help is on the way, and staying awake means I can be saved. Or maybe I can save myself. I need to get up, need to find help, need to go home, need to try…

A part of me is whispering I deserve this. _You reap what you sow, Steve_. I left her alone, ignored her and her pain, and now I’m alone and in pain and this is how I deserve to have it end. Alone, abandoned, away from any comfort.

Is she safe? Is she okay? I know she’s alive somewhere, maybe our old apartment or maybe she left but either way I don’t know if she’s okay. I can almost hear her laughter as the ringing in my ears subsides. Is she laughing at me?

She should be. She should be laughing and dancing with glee at how I am now. It’s fitting, after all I’ve done. I know that Sam and Bucky told me before to try and work things out, but a part of me knows that that was a foolish hope. I was never leaving this mission alive, never seeing her again.

That’s what hurts the worst. Not the physical pain. The pain I caused her, and knowing now that I can never ever fix it. I’ll never see her again, not even if it’s just for her to tell me to go to Hell.

I can hear a voice, but it’s faded and I can’t make anything out anymore. I can’t feel anything now. It’s almost a comfort. No pain, no suffering, just nothingness. That blank white infinity reaching around me and holding me, comforting me…

_But her… I have to…_

Sweet nothingness. It’s calling to me, and the cry is so loud.

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t find my way back, and now it’s not cold or hot or painful anymore, it’s just nothing, just what I deserve.

I’m sorry. I love you.


	2. Authorization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first meeting, on less than clear and honest pretenses.

“It’s alright, I’m authorized.”

The first words Steve heard her speak. The agent guarding him looked uncertain. The agent asked the woman in front of him for a press pass after she introduced herself, and the woman had responded with that sentence. Her voice was soft, with a slight accent to the words. Steve figured she was probably from the South originally, but hadn’t been back home in ages.

The agent called his superiors anyway. The woman had smiled, like the whole thing was a minor setback, and pushed her hair off of her face while catching Steve’s eye. She gave him a small wave, as if he was an old friend she was meeting for lunch and not a legend she was meant to be interviewing. He gave a small wave back, frowning in uncertainty.

It wasn't a "throwing to the wolves," exactly; there were a million worse journalists they could have had assigned to the piece.  At least, that’s what they told him. The woman in front of him was a serious journalist, not tabloid paparazzi looking for a quick buck. But that's what it felt like to Steve, like being thrown to the wolves covered in meat.

The agent hung up his phone and apologized to the woman, waving her into the room where Steve was sitting.

“Thank you,” the woman murmured to the agent as she reached into her bag. “I assume you’ll be at the door?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” The agent said.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to step out for a cup of coffee?” She flashed the agent the sort of smile most people would call award-winning, but Steve knew she was simply putting on a show. A show for whose benefit, was difficult to say.

“No, Ma’am.”

The woman shrugged, letting the smile fall.

“Worth a shot.” She said as the agent left. Then she looked up at Steve as she pulled out a recorder of some kind. Neither one of them spoke as she sent up her recorder. Once it was working, she looked up at him and nodded.

She introduced herself to him, smiling broadly when he gave no recognition at her name. He apologized for not being familiar with her work, but she waved a hand as if to sweep the whole matter away.

“It’s alright, Captain Rogers. It means that both of us come into this without preconceived notions.” She told him. Steve raised an eyebrow at that.

“Both of us?” he asked. “I was under the impression that a lot of people view this as a big deal.”

“Captain-“

“Call me Steve, ma’am.”

“Alright, then. Steve, I’m going to be honest with you.” Her accent seemed to thicken noticeably. Where before, he had only been able to detect a hint of a Southern accent at the edges of her words, now the accent was… not obvious, exactly, but noticeable to even an untrained ear.

He was suspicious of it immediately.

“I’ve been running over hell's half acre for the last year now, just got off a flight direct from Egypt where I was embedded with a military unit. Lemme tell you, in Egypt, it's so dry the trees are bribing the dogs.”

She paused to take a drink.

“Well, I guess they would be if there _were_ trees where we were. But fact of the matter is, I’ve been working hard reporting on all the stuff over there that I don’t keep up with the stuff back home. Occupation hazard. But fact of the matter is, this piece? I could write it in my sleep without interviewing _you_ at all.”

“So why bother?”

She shrugged.

“Beats potentially getting shot at. Being a woman does me no favors in a combat zone like that.” She smiles at Steve again, but it seems genuine this time. “Besides, this is, as you said, a big deal. Maybe not for you or for me, but to the people who read it. I like the idea. There’s so much being thrown at people by the media, how the world’s going to hell. Maybe something like this will give people a bit of hope that things aren’t so bad.”

“You have a point, ma’am, but you could still write a piece like that without speaking to me. More than a few reporters are, I understand.”

“Hacks, all of them. Petty amateurs.” She told him with a wave of her hand, as if sweeping all those other imaginary reporters away. It actually made Steve chuckle, which she smiled at. “Martha Gellhorn said something along the lines that the best reporting offered a view from the ground. I’m not interested in propaganda or puff pieces, Steve. I can’t imagine you are, either.”

Steve sighed. “I can’t see why my opinion matters,” he told her. “This piece is going forward with or without my cooperation.”

“Someone lied to you, then.”

He looked at her curiously. She returned his gaze for a moment, but it seemed realization hit her and she let out a huff of air as she looked away.

“I’m going to kill Director Fury.” She mumbled. Then she looked up at him, and Steve was surprised to see she was angry. “No one told you that you didn’t have to do this piece? My main condition on this was having your consent and cooperation.”

Steve shook his head. “I was only told I was meeting with a reporter.”

“I don’t interview people against their will. I’m not a tabloid pap looking for quick cash or someone who chases after tragedies to see their byline on the front page. I apologize, Captain Rogers.” She picked up her recorder and put it back in her bag. “I’m _so_ sorry, I had no idea. I’ll tell Fury the piece is off the tab-“

“Isn’t he just going to get someone else?” Steve asked her. She looked up at Steve, anger still in her eyes.

“Not if I have anything to say about it. All journalists have in their careers are their ethics. Those who claim ethics and do unhanded, shady shit like this are no better than the tabloids or propagandists. As a journalist I refuse to take part in this kind of thing, Captain, and I’m truly sorry I didn’t ask more questions before I agreed to this.” There was a fire in her that seemed to radiate, and despite his initial distrust of her. Steve respected her conviction.

“I’ll do the piece.” He said, and she looked at him in surprise. “If you’re the one to write it.”

“I don’t know if you were just paying attention, Captain-“

“I told you to call me Steve, ma’am.”

She stared at him for a long time, mouth slightly open and looking dumbfounded. Then she pulled out her recorder again, and told him if she had to call him by his first name, he had to do the same with her.

“Let’s get started.” She told him.


End file.
